


Before You Go

by tardisthetrain



Series: this life of ours [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Life or Death Situation, Season 5 Finale Divergent, Season 7 divergent, Secret Child AU, Seizures, Separation Anxiety, Temporary Character Death - Time Loop, Time Loop, paralyzed character, season 7 speculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24934666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisthetrain/pseuds/tardisthetrain
Summary: If there was one thing that FitzSimmons knew how to do well, it was saying goodbye to each other, putting their world on pause for the sake of whatever SHIELD needed. They hated it. They hated it with every cell in their bodies, every beat of their hearts and every shaky touch they shared. Enoch had said that, in order to succeed, they had to upend the natural course of their lives forever. It meant another goodbye, another screeching halt to the lives they’d just gotten back to living. But this time was different than all the others — this time, they had time to prepare.---Season 7 speculation fic starting from episode 5
Relationships: Enoch & Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz & Deke Shaw & Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons, Phil Coulson & Melinda May & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Series: this life of ours [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764394
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Julia, forever and always the Simmons to my Fitz.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time isn't on their side. It never is. But maybe, just maybe, they can use what they have to their advantage.

It started just by painting the walls of the lab. They’d both agreed they needed a momentary break from the computers, their eyes aching from staring at the screens. 

Fitz was working on the arch, the doorway from the cargo hold into the lab, brow furrowed in concentration as he dragged his paintbrush back and forth, painting with an almost rust colored mixture that Enoch had brought back from the shops. He hadn’t had the heart to tell him how horribly ugly the color was.

Jemma, on the other hand, was a mere few feet away, on tiptoes on the top of the stepladder, painting grey across the walls above the bare desks. He could just about see her in his peripheral vision if he focused, but the longer that his eyes lingered on her, the less he cared about painting, about finishing up the lab.

They had time, right? They had nothing but time. They’d spent the last three years trying to upgrade the jump-drive, surely, just a moment to not think about work wouldn’t hurt them.

They had a few hours to leave the unpainted lab behind, a few hours to tell Enoch they were going to take a rest, a few hours to lock the door to their bunk and be alone.

As it turned out, they had more time than they thought. They had five years just the two of them (and Enoch, of course), working through the modifications of the lab and other little projects. They had five years while they tried and tried again to get their plans in order. They had five years to finish setting up the lab, put the final touches on the jump-drive. They had five years to cry about what they were starting, to realize that, until the Chronicoms were dealt with, until SHIELD was safe and secure again, they wouldn’t get a chance at peace.

For five years, they were as inseparable as ever, moments spent beside each other day in and day out, sleepless night in and sleepless night out, until they had to say goodbye again. Jemma stood at the ramp of the cargo bay with a hand over her mouth, a hand over her heart as she watched him go. She bit back a sob as her world left her sight, the ramp closing and the countdown for the jump beginning.

In less then 17 seconds, Jemma was gone from that time, that space.

And Fitz just sat there, tears streaking his cheeks as he watched the Zephyr disappear. In his lap, their son started to whine, miffed that he’d been woken from his nap. He let out a sharp wail, one that Fitz could only nod at.

“We’ll be back with mummy, soon, Ollie,” he murmured. “We’ll all be t’gether again soon.”

* * *

She almost slipped up in 1933. It had been two weeks since leaving Fitz, leaving their two-month-old son, behind in a year she didn’t know, in a place she didn’t recognize. The team was still adjusting, still trying to wrap their heads around the displacement in time, trying to comprehend how they’d brought Coulson back, how he could seem so much like the real man without being him, properly, trying to understand how May would be okay in the end. She fielded their questions to the best of her ability, letting Enoch take over in explanations when she could, but it was Yo-Yo that caught her off guard.

Fitz was _supposed_ to send her a message, to let her know that he and Oliver were safe, nothing more, nothing less. But the message wouldn’t show, despite every attempt at typing in the passcode, the screen just kept on displaying the same message. **FAILURE TO DECRYPT**.

Yo-Yo’s footsteps pulled her attention away from the monitor, and she did her best to smile at the Inhuman. “How are your arms feeling?”

“Strange.” Yo-Yo smiled back tentatively, leaning against the computer table. “But better. Thank you.” She paused for a moment. “How about you?”

Maybe her pretend smile wasn’t as convincing as she’d thought. She let her shoulders slump as she said, “Fitz said he’d try to send me a message, but I’m not entirely sure how to find it.”

In the corner of her eye, Jemma could see Yo-Yo falter, could see her searching for the right thing to say. Finally, she settled on, “You must be worried about him.”

Jemma nodded, almost imperceptibly. “He’s safe,” she said. “But I do miss them.”

“Them?”

Oh, she hadn’t meant to say that. She hadn’t had a chance to tell the team just yet. She’d wanted to tell them _with_ Fitz, to get to share that together with him once this nonsense with the Chronicoms was all said and done.

“No, no, _him_ , you’re right, I’m sorry,” she said, scrambling to cover up her mistake. She let her gaze drift back to the computer, fingers tapping at the different keys to try and feign busyness. “I guess I’m just used to him being with Enoch, working.” The lie did come rather easily. “What, with the last stretch of time, it was the three of us on the Zephyr, so, I just... I got used to him always being with Enoch working on the time drive."

She pressed her lips together in a fine line, forcing her smile ever more and more, praying that Yo-Yo would just drop the conversation, or just agree and move on.

Thankfully, Yo-Yo seemed to take the bait, eating up the lie without much hesitation. “Well, it’s not exactly your first go at being separated by space and time,” she mused, almost teasingly.

Jemma huffed. “Practice makes perfect, I suppose.”

“Are you going to try to reach out to him?”

“Never.”

She could see that the suddenness of her answer caught Yo-Yo off-guard. There was a sadness in her eyes for the biochemist, Jemma noted, brown hues almost tearing up.

“We have to assume the Chronicoms are listening. It’s more important to keep a low profile.”

_Because I can’t risk both my son and my husband’s lives_ , she thought.

Truth be told, she was relieved to see Deke and Daisy drive up the cargo ramp in the old truck. A part of her wished Fitz was there to see it (well, really, all of her wished he was there to see it), to see this piece of history sitting in the Zephyr. 

She’d see him soon. If she could get some answers from the Chronicom in the bed of the truck, she might be able to see him sooner, if they could stop their plans before they began to unfold.

* * *

As it turned out, they were able to stop the Chronicoms, but it didn’t mean their fight was over. Between leaving Enoch behind in 1933, and a near crash-landing in 1955 Groomlake, Jemma’s nerves were just about fried. Exhaustion was settling over her like a storm, raining down an overwhelming hopelessness onto her shoulders. She wanted Fitz to be back by her side, she wanted their son to be back in her arms, but she didn’t know where they were, if they were safe. And Enoch, the only other being that knew where Fitz was beside the Scot himself, was gone, left behind in a whole different decade.

Going undercover should have distracted her. Dressing herself up as Peggy Carter should have changed her focus from her family, but even doing so stung. She wanted to be able to show Fitz, to go undercover with him and not Coulson — though she meant no disrespect to their formerly dead director. Coming face to face with Daniel Sousa hurt, too. Freshman year at the academy, she’d spent most of her time with Fitz in his dorm, covered in undone laundry and scattered pages of notes on the second floor of Sousa Hall. It seemed like every second of the past was hellbent on reminding her of what she was missing.

In a holding cell of Area 51, she nearly told Coulson everything, just to get it off her chest, but Sousa opened the door before she was able to say anything, and it was right back to the mission they went, her mind too preoccupied with stopping project Helius to focus on her husband, on their son.

They’d be reunited soon. She could feel it.

* * *

In 1976, one photograph in the hands of Wilfred Malick was the first step in unraveling the FitzSimmons family. Even if the man wasn’t sure who he was looking at, the determination in the Chronicom’s eyes in front of him was enough to know these people were important, and it would be in his best interest to not sway from the instructions he was being given.

Still, Malick frowned at the image. “Why not just put these two on the list?”

The Chronicom stepped closer to him. “That would not be as effective,” he said. “We want SHIELD to reveal themselves, to give up their position. You will deliver this message.”

Malick nodded, slipping the image back into the envelope. “Loud and clear.”

* * *

Yo-Yo pulled the picture carefully from the envelope, being mindful of the blood all over it. “No.” She shook her head, turning the image towards Deke.

His eyes went wide in an instant, and she was certain she’d never seen him look so stunned. “No, no, no. Bobo.”

“But he’s not alone,” Yo-Yo pointed out, pointing to the little baby in the Scot’s arms. In the photograph, Jemma was sitting beside her husband, his arm around her shoulders. Only Fitz and the baby were circled, though, with Jemma left alone on the image. “He’s… I don’t understand. Is this… a future image?”

“Nana said… that she and Bobo had time,” Deke said, shaking his head as he studied the baby in the picture. “I… What if…”

“Simmons would have told us.”

“Maybe,” Deke mumbled. “Maybe she was waiting for Fitz to come back.”

“But if Malick has Fitz and this baby,” Yo-Yo started. “Fitz might not come back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was made to just be a little starter chapter. All of the heavy-duty stuff will start in the next chapter.
> 
> Title is influenced by/reference to the Lewis Capaldi song "Before You Go".
> 
> I started writing this just after episode one of season 7. My initial plan was to write a chapter each week and have it up before the next episode, but life has gotten in the way, and I think that taking my time has helped me a lot more in terms of getting my thoughts together to write this. Also episode 5 messed with my head and I needed to put some better vibes out there.
> 
> The character of Oliver Lincoln James FitzSimmons was created by myself (brxkcnengineer) and my best friend, Julia (biochemiist) on tumblr on September 18th of 2019 as a part of a long running thread. He has been written into this series with permission from biochemiist.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insight is ready to launch, but the team's plans aren't ready to be fulfilled, as a sudden appearance in the Lighthouse knock everything off course.

He was positive someone was in the house. Fitz was used to not sleeping, whether it was from his work keeping him busy, or Oliver absolutely refusing to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time, or just because it was hard to sleep in a bed alone, Fitz was used to it. And, of course, it was just his luck that the moment his head hit his pillow, where the exhaustion had creeped down to his very bones, that a sound jostled him from his thirty seconds of shut-eye.

He was used to hearing the little coos and babbles from his son, his gurgles as he kicked in his sleep sack or as he tried to pry the mittens off his hands. If he was being honest, those sounds were actually rather soothing, and it eased _some_ of the loneliness, just knowing that someone else was there, even _if_ he was only three-months-old. Most nights, Fitz would just sit as his desk, or stare up at the ceiling when he was laying in bed, listening to the little noises Oliver made as he soothed himself to sleep.

That night, though, was distinctly different. Oliver had fallen right to sleep after his bath, and Fitz had finished enough of his project to be able to confidently call it quits for the day. With the boy tucked into his cot in the little room just across the hall, Fitz pulled himself into bed, wishing for the millionth time that he could just go back to how things used to be, go back to Jemma and the team, in their little bunk that was too cold, and that Jemma would press her freezing feet against his side to try and warm herself up. He closed his eyes and wished for her to be there, wished for her, again, and again, and again. Until…

“Get the kid.”

Every bit of oxygen was pulled from his lungs. His eyes snapped open, and he forced himself not to say a word, not to call out to whoever was in the house, whoever was talking, directing someone to get his son. He slipped his hand under his pillow, his hand trembling around the grip of the ICER. A footstep creaked in the hallway. The hinges on the door to Oliver’s nursery squeaked, and Fitz’s heart thumped louder and louder. He heard a light switch get flipped, and he could see the glow appear under the doorways, leaking in from the hall.

Ever so slowly, ever so carefully, he moved one leg over the edge of the bed,then the other. No one had approached his door yet, and he couldn’t hear Oliver crying at being woken. Either they had done something to him, or they were waiting, but waiting on what, Fitz wasn’t sure.

He kept one hand on the ICER, the other reaching for the cane leaning against the bedside table. Uneasily, his hands shaking and his knees wobbling, he got to a stand, holding in another breath to try and remain as silent as he possibly could.

“What about the guy?”

The voice was American. Almost a New Yorker accent, Fitz could hear. There was another set of footsteps, and over the roaring sound of his own heartbeat, he could hear Oliver starting to whine, grizzling at whoever had him. He was still alive, Fitz reminded himself. Oliver was still alive, so if they were being held captive, if the Chronicoms had found them, they still needed them alive. Hostages, then. But why would the Chronicoms hold them hostage if they wanted them dead? That was the whole reason he and Jemma had had to part ways, they were too easy to find together, too big of a target together.

“He don’t walk.”

There were at least two people. Maybe three. The footsteps were too inconclusive. And definitely not Chronicoms, if their grammar was anything to judge by.

“What, so one of us is gonna have to carry the gimp outta here? I got the kid, you take the father.”

Two people, Fitz was almost positive, just about 97% positive, if the bickering was anything to judge by. He dragged his feet forwards, his cane scraping against the floor. Immediately, he winced, freezing to the spot. His hand trembled, making the ICER wobble in his grip.

“What the hell was that?”

From in the hallway, he could hear Oliver whining, more awake now. One of the men in the hallway clearly turned on his heel. One, two, three footsteps came closer to Fitz’s door, and he stood at the ready, ICER aimed at the door.

His heart was beating so fast, so loud, he was sure that wherever she was, Jemma could hear it.

In one swift movement, happening almost faster than Fitz could process it, the door in front of him was kicked open, his bedroom illuminated by the hall light. He only saw them for a split second, but he could make out two men in the hall, one a few feet back with Oliver held in his arms, the infant wriggling and squirming in his blankets. The man closer to Fitz had a pistol aimed at the Scot, but there was an unmistakable flicker of surprise, uncertainty, on his face when he saw Fitz _standing_ in front of them. Fitz’s finger twitched against the trigger of the ICER, but the other man, the one holding the gun, pulled the trigger first.

* * *

The longer that Mack stared at the screen, the more anxious he felt. Every ten seconds, the cameras switched, changing to another location on the base, but there was one frame he couldn’t keep his eyes off of. The image was grainy, and the constant static across it just built up the sense of unease he was feeling. He couldn’t be sure about what he was seeing, couldn’t be positive that the figure he was looking at wasn’t who he thought it was, or if the little movements in the corner of the image wasn’t from what he _thought_ it might be.

In another frame, he watched Coulson and May move through the Lighthouse, setting up another charge. Behind him, Simmons tapped at the computer, Enoch beside her. Mack could feel both of them watching him, waiting for his commands.

“ _Charges in position_.” May’s voice crackled over the comms. “ _Mack, we’re ready to detonate on your signal._ ”

“Waiting on your signal, Mack.” Jemma tapped at another button on the computer.

No, Mack was _certain_ now about what, about _who_ he was seeing.

“Mack.”

He could hear Jemma moving behind him, her footsteps coming closer to him, but he didn’t move to look at her. Instead, he tapped on the image he’d been staring at, pulling it up for her to see as she came up beside him.

On CAM 0224, a figure moved just a bit, the man lying on the bed raising a hand to press to his forehead. There was another slight movement on his right, in a little bassinet, a tiny baby squirming around, wriggling in blankets.

“No.”

Jemma’s voice was no louder than a whisper. The image was grainy and imperfect, but to her, it couldn’t be more clear. Maybe Mack hadn’t been certain at first, but Jemma was, one-hundred percent positive in less than a millisecond. The Chronicoms had Fitz. Hydra had Fitz. And they had Oliver, too. They’d taken her family hostage, her husband and their son, who, when she’d seen him last, had only been two months old. And now they were being held hostage, used as leverage to stop SHIELD from doing a single thing about Project Insight.

“Fitz…”

Mack turned to look at the biochemist next to him. Tears were falling down her cheeks already, and she looked liable to collapse at any second, the fear and anxiety coursing through her veins making her tremble where she stood.

“Stop the detonation,” she whimpered, shaking her head furiously. “If Coulson and May flood the base… th-then they’ll drown. _Please_. Call it off.”

“Insight,” Mack said slowly, shaking his head. “We can’t let it launch, Simmons.”

He reached to press the comms button, to give May and Coulson his orders, but Jemma reached faster, her hand slamming the button down.

“Abort,” she cried. “Abort. Abort mission!”

* * *

“… _twelve, eleven, ten_ …”

May kept forging ahead through the halls, her thumb hovering over the detonator in her hand. What was taking so long? Why hadn’t Mack given his order yet? Time was running out.

“ _ABORT_! _ABORT_!”

Both she and Coulson stopped in the hall, confusion painting their faces at the order. It wasn’t Mack on the comms, either, but Simmons, sounding desperate and scared. May hadn’t heard her sound like that since the building collapse, since she’d fought and cried to get to her husband.

“Are you sure?”

May clicked the button on the walkie-talkie. The countdown was down to eight.

“Simmons, this is our only chance,” Coulson added.

“ _ABORT_!”

Five seconds now.

“ _ABORT MISSION_! _Fitz and Oliver are on the base_! _I repeat, Fitz and Oliver are on the base_! _They’ll drown if you detonate_!”

“… _two, one. Ignition_ …”

Time was up. May closed the detonator switch, locking it. Who the hell was Oliver? Simmons had never mentioned any Oliver to them before, but there was something in her panic that May could just about feel through the walkie-talkie, her terror practically palpable.

* * *

“Initiate countermeasures.”

The security camera in the launchpad showed smoke, the rocket starting to lift off. Some relief spread through Jemma’s veins, but it wasn’t enough. Fitz and Oliver were still held hostage, surrounded by Chronicoms and Hydra, and she was miles away at best. Mack’s orders, though, pulled her back to attention.

“Mack, are you saying that—” Enoch’s inquiry was shot down before he could even finish it.

“I’m saying arm the damn missiles.”

He turned, already rushing towards the cockpit, Enoch just a few steps ahead and getting into position. Jemma hurried behind them, sitting down in the jumpseat in front of the defense system computer. Through the windshield, she could see the rocket pushing through the sky, hardly more than a little speck on the horizon as smoke trailed beneath it. Her eyes flickered to the screen in front of Enoch next, watching the sights start to settle on the target, beeping to confirm they were locked. Mack pulled the trigger in his hand, and the Zephyr jolted as it released the missile, another stream of smoke releasing into the air.

Jemma held her breath, her heart speeding faster and faster in her chest. The missile was inches away, racing after the rocket, closer and closer until it hit, and fire exploded, blooming into the sky. Enoch pulled hard against the navigation, turning them away from the impact.

“Direct hit,” he noted aloud. “Missiles detonated on impact. Project Insight has been destroyed.”

She let out the breath she was holding. In the co-pilot’s seat, Mack sighed, shaking his head in frustration. “But we just gave up our position.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New information creates a divide in the team, and Fitz wakes up somewhere familiar, even if it isn't exactly what he remembers.

Fitz was jolted awake by a deafening roar, the walls around him shaking and the lightbulb above him rattling. Another rumble made the room tremble, and he reached a hand out to brace himself, only for pain to splinter up from his shoulder, pushing through his veins until his heart stuttered in fear. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, forcing himself to draw in a breath, counting slowly in his head to three, then let it out again. His head was still spinning, and even with all the noise and the rumbles demanding his attention, it all still felt too far away, almost dreamlike. If he really thought about it, the room he was in almost looked like the Lighthouse...

* * *

The moment that the Quinjet was docked on top of the Zephyr, shouts of frustration and anger reverberated through both ships. One voice was booming, echoing against the walls and only growing louder as the rest of the team approached. Sousa leaned heavily on his cane, every click against the floor ticking off the seconds that passed. He looked over to Daisy with a furrow in his brow, then to Deke and Yo-Yo as the four of them made their way to the flight deck. Deke and Yo-Yo had rushed to get the former SSR agent and the Inhuman the moment they’d gotten word from Mack, calling them back urgently to the Zephyr, and there was something in Deke’s eyes that showed pure fear, showed he was terrified down to his core, though he wouldn’t say what it was, only that he and Yo-Yo had found something bad when they went to confront Malick.

None of them really anticipated walking right into an argument.

“ _Please_ , there isn’t enough _time_ to argue about this, Mack. Fitz is down there and—”

“And I’m not putting any more boots on the ground until you tell me _exactly_ what is going on, Simmons.”

“And I _told_ you _already_ that I will _explain_ everything once Fitz and Oliver are back on the Zephyr, and _not_ in the custody of the Chronicoms.”

“You can explain it all now.” Mack was fuming with anger as he snapped. “I’m done with you hiding everything from us.”

“ _Hey_!”

Deke’s sudden outburst made Jemma jump. She raised a hand to her temple, letting out a breath as she looked over the rest of the team. “Deke,” she started to say, side-stepping a little closer to her grandson.

“Leave her alone,” Deke snarled, his eyes narrowed up at Mack as the elder agent loomed over him. He stepped in front of Jemma, putting her behind him and increasing the distance between her and Mack.

“The Chronicoms and Hydra have Fitz. _That_ should be the priority here, Mack. Not interrogating Jemma,” Daisy interjected.

“They don’t only have Fitz.” Elena held up the envelope they’d taken from Malick’s office. “We found this when we went to see Malick. He said that the Chronicoms were only just letting us _think_ we had the upper hand. They knew exactly what we were going to do with Insight so they…”

Daisy glanced at the image as Elena pulled it from the envelope, eyes widening for a moment in shock, then squinting in confusion. Sousa leaned over to see it as well, though his expression bore nothing but uncertainty. Slowly, Elena turned the picture over for Jemma, Mack, and Enoch to see as well.

Instantly, Jemma raised her hand to cover her mouth, biting back a sob as it forced its way out of her. Enoch tilted his head, mumbling a quiet, “Bestie,” under his breath.

“Wait, wait. Who the hell is this guy?” Sousa pointed to Jemma, then to the picture. “If he’s part of the team why hasn’t he been here? ‘Cause I’d really like to know what the hell is going on.”

“Yeah, join the club,” Mack grunted.

Daisy tapped her finger against the image of the FitzSimmons family, pointing to the engineer as she spoke quietly to Sousa. “This is Fitz,” she said. “He’s Jemma’s husband. From what we know, they had to part ways because of everything going on with the Chronicoms, but… The baby is news to all of us, too.”

“Not to me,” Deke interrupted. He shook his head rapidly. “My mom had a picture just like that. It was old and everything when I saw it, but it was almost exac—”

“It’s not your mother, Deke.” Jemma ran a hand through her hair. She’d given up on fighting back the tears. It wasn’t worth it at this point. “It’s… technically speaking, he’s your uncle.”

Sousa’s head spun. “Uncle?”

Daisy waved a hand. “Don’t ask, long story.”

“Simmons.” Elena set the picture down on the closest monitor, just to get it out of her hands. “How long were you and Fitz away from the rest of the team?”

An uneasy silence settled over the Zephyr. All eyes fell on Jemma, though Enoch’s focus was on the computer he was working at, still searching through the security feeds of the Lighthouse. He knew the answers to the questions the team was asking. He’d been there for almost every moment.

“Between the Chronicoms invading the Lighthouse in 2019 and getting you all out of Izel’s temple, I…” Jemma’s shoulders shook as she let out a breath, forcing herself to hold it all together, just a little longer. “Fitz, Enoch, and I were working on the Zephyr, trying to find a way to travel through time for roughly five years. Give or take a few days.”

“One nine five five,” Enoch added, turning to the team. “We were working the problem for one thousand, nine hundred and fifty-five days. Of which, Jemma was pregnant for two-hundred-twenty-two of them.” He blinked. “In total, there were one thousand, six hundred and seventy three days of myself, Jemma, and Fitz, followed by two-hundred-twenty-two days of Jemma’s pregnancy, and a remaining sixty days after Oliver’s birth before Jemma Simmons and I spent another requisite fourteen days retrieving you all from Izel’s temple.”

No one said a word, but everyone’s gaze went right back to Jemma. Dizziness was flooding in, and her head was spinning. “I was going to tell you all.” Her voice cracked as the words came out. “I was going to tell you all once all of this… this nonsense was over, once Fitz was back with us. But it wasn’t safe for any of you to know anything, not until this threat is dealt with. I was going to tell you all once it was over.”

“You were just going to spring it on us that you and Fitz had a kid?” Mack clicked his tongue in disapproval, shaking his head at her. “And now we’ve got 1976 SHIELD looking for us because we just blew a damn rocket out of the sky, and we have to go in blind to go and find Fitz and…”

“ _Oliver_.” Jemma let out another breath. “And if the Chronicoms are using them as bait or… or as collateral, as hostages… We _need_ to get them out. If you won’t help me because you’re-you’re angry that I hadn’t _told_ you, then so be it. I’ll get them out myself if I have to. I was only trying to keep them safe, to keep _all_ of you safe.”

Without another word, she reached to grab one of the walkie-talkies from the charging port, hurrying off towards the Quinjet docking bay, tears falling rapidly down her cheeks as she started up the auto-pilot. Her heart was pounding in her chest, the sound echoing in her ears and just about drowning out the sound of footsteps walking up the Quinjet ramp before it closed, buckling themselves in to prepare to disengage from the Zephyr.

* * *

It was definitely the Lighthouse. Now that the walls had stopped rumbling and the ringing in his ears had died down, once his head stopped spinning in circles, he’d managed to focus. The hideously beige walls surrounding him were unmistakeable, the same horrible color that all of the Lighthouse bunks wore. The room was too sparse to have been any of the team’s rooms, but something about it felt familiar, even if it felt… off. The light above him was far too dim, and he had spent more than enough time trying to upgrade the base to know that the lightbulbs in _every single bunk_ had been changed.

He pressed his palms against the mattress beneath him, trying to push himself up to a sitting position so he could better see the rest of the room, to try and place _exactly_ where he was. Another spark of pain ignited in his shoulder, and he bit back a yelp, just barely managing to slump himself against the wall behind him with a gasp passing his lips.

“Ffffuhh… _bugger._ ”

He cradled his right arm against his chest, hissing as he moved, the pain splintering from his arm and through his veins, spreading to every cell in his body and bringing light to a dreadfully familiar panic. He hadn’t been searching for it, but he found the familiar ache in his head, a swimming sensation that pooled nausea in the pit of his stomach. He pressed his eyes shut tightly, his left hand pressing against his forehead like it would do anything to stop the feeling of his skull deconstructing itself. Jemma had always been there to help him out of bad moments like this, where it felt like the world faded and all he could feel was sick to his stomach, all he could hear was the roaring of his own heartbeat, and the only thing he could focus on was the pain in his side.

It didn’t matter that the building collapse had been nearly six years ago. It didn’t matter that there was nothing more than scar tissue where the sutures had once been, where the piece of metal had once been embedded. The dust he could feel caking to his skin might not have been real in that moment, but that didn’t make his skin crawl any less. He could feel his hand shaking against his forehead, his fingers twisting in his curls and tugging sharply at them, trying to find another sensation to focus on.

The past month without Jemma, he hadn’t had any bad moments like this, and he’d been grateful for it, but he still ached to have her close. In the bunk in the Lighthouse, the ache of wanting her near mutated into a burn, a desperate need for her to be close to him and for her to be beside him, for their son to be in their arms, for them to be —

“ _Ollie_.”

The infant’s name fell from his father’s lips, and in an instant, one wave of panic was overshadowed by another. He ignored the pain in his side, the pain in his arm, and forced himself to open his eyes, the dizziness be damned.

“Oliver?”

He wasn’t sure what response he was hoping for. It wasn’t like his son could speak yet, or do much more than just gurgle and whine, but that would have been enough. Just a sound would have been enough. But there wasn’t anything. His vision was blurred from the tears in his eyes, but what he could see just about stopped his heart from beating.

Beside the bed he was on, a little cot was set up, close enough for him to reach and take his son into his arms. But his son wasn’t there. His blanket was, though, hanging over the edge of the cot. The plush monkey on the other end of it smiled up at the ceiling, and Fitz’s heart fell into the deepest pit of his stomach.

“ _Oliver_ …” His breaths came in stuttered gasps. “ _OLIVER_!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once, a rescue mission goes as planned -- though, not without some surprises.

“So, not only do we have to find Coulson and May, but we also need to get Fitz and the baby out—”

“ _Oliver_.” Jemma ran a hand through her hair. “His name is Oliver.”

Daisy nodded. “Oliver. Okay.” She gave her friend a hesitant little smile, then turned back to the others.

Sousa still looked absolutely lost, and really, Daisy couldn’t blame him for it. Deke kept bouncing his leg up and down as they flew, anxiety pulsing through his veins. Enoch, Mack, and Yo-Yo had stayed on the Zephyr, with the Chronicom promising to keep a watch on the security feed they were still tapped into. Mack had said, rather dismissively, that he was staying on the Zephyr in order to make sure they weren’t spotted. Yo-Yo only said something about not being of much help if she couldn’t run ahead and scout for any threats on the base, so she lingered behind with Enoch, eyes watching the monitors for any sign of their teammates. That only left Jemma, Daisy, Sousa, and Deke on the Quinjet, with cloaking reengaged and autopilot guiding them into the launch silo.

“So, there’s four of us, and four people to find,” Sousa said. “We split up. Two of us go looking for Coulson and May, the other two go find this Fitz guy and the baby.”

“ _Oliver_ ,” Jemma insisted again, her hands curled into tight fists by her sides, trembling.

“Oliver,” Sousa repeated, offering up a small, apologetic smile to the biochemist. “We split up. Two look for Coulson and May, two look for Oliver and Fitz.”

“Splitting up would be _exactly_ what the Chronicoms want us to do,” Daisy countered.

“But we don’t have much of a choice.” Deke shook his head. “It’ll be faster for us to go in pairs, we cover more of the Lighthouse, rendezvous back on the Quinjet.”

Everyone’s eyes fell on Jemma again, but all she could do was nod, letting out a small breath and trying to keep back her tears. “We split up,” she said finally. “Keep in contact, don’t talk to anyone that isn’t part of our team. We can’t trust that they’re not Hydra or Chronicoms.”

The jet shuddered as it started to descend again. Sousa braced himself, holding on to his cane a little tighter. “Daisy,” Jemma continued. “You and Sousa go together, search the labs, holding cells, anywhere. Deke and I will search the bunks, that’s where Fitz and Ollie last were on the cameras. If you hear from Enoch or Yo-Yo, they’ll be watching the security feeds, hopefully they’ll be able to track everyone down and we’ll be out of the Lighthouse before anyone ever knows we were there.”

* * *

Fitz was still screaming when the door to the bunk opened. He was still shouting when two men in SHIELD jumpsuits came over and grabbed him by the arms. He kept demanding information from them as they dragged him out of the room, begging for someone, _anyone_ , to tell him where his son was.

He whimpered his name as the two men lifted him up onto a table, pushed against them when they got too close, but he was powerless to stop them. His arms grew heavy and his vision blurred as they pulled the syringe from his neck.

“ _Ollie_ …” He choked over the boy’s name. “ _Oliver_ … where’s he… _Ollie_ …”

* * *

“So, help me understand this.”

“I’m not so sure I can.”

Sousa’s cane tapped against the floor of the Lighthouse, his other hand holding tight to his gun. Daisy was only a few steps ahead of him, sticking close to the walls as they rounded every corner. They paused for a second, waiting for a pair of men in blue jumpsuits to walk past before they continued, and Daisy gave the SSR agent a nod to say they were good to go.

“Okay, then, humor me, at least,” he whispered. “The Hydra in my time was very focused on world domination, on blending into the shadows and striking when you didn’t expect it. The Hydra in _your_ time, they make a habit of kidnapping babies?”

She glanced around another corner. They weren’t too far from the lab, where, in about forty years, Fitz and Simmons would be spending just about every day. “Kidnapping babies is new,” she said, moving towards the door. “But I don’t think Hydra came up with that order on their own. If Malick was working with the Chronicoms, and the Chronicoms were after FitzSimmons, then the order came from them. What I’m not understanding is why they’re taking them hostage in the first place.”

Sousa stepped in a little closer, his back to Daisy as she worked on picking the lock, keeping on guard for anyone coming their way. “And remind me why these Chronicom guys want Fitz and Simmons?”

“They scanned their brains and want to use the information they got from them as a way to take over the earth and turn it into their new home planet.” She clicked her tongue as she worked, the doorknob still not turning. “It’s a really long story to tell, and it isn’t easy to process it all without a couple drinks to wash all the details down.”

“Right…”

The Lighthouse’s PA system repeated the message about going into lockdown for the millionth time since their arrival. “And this… Fitz guy. He’s Jemma’s husband?”

“Yep.” The doorknob started to move and Daisy grinned. “They got married a few years ago. Well. From where _we_ are right now in 1976, they _will_ be getting married in about forty years. I think.” She shrugged her shoulders, leaning her weight into the door. “About a week or two after they got married, though, Fitz almost died. He was caught in a building collapse and he was pinned by all the rubble. A piece of metal went right through him, severed a part of his spine. He’s been paralyzed since then.”

Sousa nodded, readjusting his balance against his cane. “And the kid?”

“The kid’s new to all of us, too. I always figured Jemma and Fitz would have kids, but… gotta say, didn’t think we’d find out about it like this. Thought we’d have some sort of party on the base, not… breaking into the base to try and rescue them.”

The lock finally clicked and the door opened. “ _Finally_.” The Inhuman stood back up to her full height, nudging the door open a little further and poking her head in. “Coast’s clear.”

She stepped in and waited for Sousa to follow, shutting the door behind them once they were both inside. She reached to pull the blinds down on the windows, ensuring there was no way of seeing them before she flicked on the light. The lab was almost the same, minus all the twenty-first century equipment that was usually there, the laptops and 3D printers on the desks, the centrifuges, the microscopes. But it was a familiarity that Daisy welcomed, knowing the general layout of the area. “Okay. There’s only one entrance to the lab, but still, we should make this fast.”

She moved around one of the desks, checking under all of them in case Fitz was hiding somewhere, in case he had somehow made an escape from the Chronicoms and was waiting for them to find him. She was just starting to stand up again when a sound caught her off guard. A quiet little gurgle echoed in from the corner of the room. Sousa turned to look at her, their eyes meeting for a brief moment before he hurried towards the sound, cane clicking against the tile, Daisy right on his heels.

Sousa was the first to approach the source of the noise, something box shaped and covered by a dark sheet. Another gurgle echoed in the room, then a whine. Carefully, he reached a hand out to grab the sheet, meeting Daisy’s eyes just as she nodded. In his head, he counted down from three, then pulled the dark fabric away.

Daisy’s heart skipped a beat, a shocked laugh passing her lips. As Sousa yanked the sheet, the little baby in the incubator flinched, his nose wrinkling as he started to cry, lips pursed and eyes scrunched shut. For a moment, all Daisy could think of was just how much he looked like Fitz, that same sour look on his face and furrow in his brow when things weren’t going quite right. He kicked his feet in frustration, tiny arms flailing above his head. He hiccuped at the strangers in front of him and smacked his lips together, his tongue sticking out at Daisy as she moved in closer. There was a definite curiosity, if not confusion, in his little blue eyes, and the frown on his face just about dashed any suspicion about who his parents were. He was _definitely_ FitzSimmons’s kid.

“Hi, little guy,” she mumbled, moving to unlatch the sides of it. She slipped a hand in, letting the little boy curl a fist around her pinky finger as she moved to pick him up. “God, you’re so _tiny_.” She held him close even though he squirmed in defiance, wriggling around in her arms.

Sousa let out the breath he’d been holding in, lowering his gun and slipping it back into the holster on his hip, taking the walkie-talkie instead and holding down the communicator button. “Simmons, do you copy? We’ve found Oliver. Repeat, we’ve found Oliver. We’ll meet you back at the plane.”

* * *

Fitz was back in the familiarly unfamiliar bunk when he next opened his eyes. His head fell to the side, his eyes crossing and rolling for a moment before they focused once more on the empty cot beside his bed. His heart sunk like an anchor, weighing him down to the bed again.

“ _Ollie_ ,” he croaked.

He reached a hand towards the cot, his arm heavy and his movements sluggish when he reached to grab the blanket hanging over the edge. His fingers twitched against the fabric, pulling it closer and holding it close to his chest, the little plush monkey resting against his cheek. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus, couldn’t hear anything but his son’s name, over and over again in his head, a mantra, a prayer.

Wherever he was, or, _whenever_ he was, he’d failed. He’d failed Jemma, he’d failed their son, and now the Chronicoms had him and Fitz couldn’t do anything. He was powerless against them, and absolutely useless while he was stuck just laying there in the bunk, his son’s blanket held close and tight in his trembling hands.

His bones felt like they were made of lead, weighing tons even in the littlest of movements. His fingers brushed shakily over the fabric of the plush monkey, over the little stitches of its smile. One hand drifted up to the back of his neck, touching the small piece of metal at the nape of his neck, then let his hand drop again.

 _Useless, useless, useless_ , he thought. _I let my son get taken and I can’t do anything about it._

Something banged against the door to the bunk, and though he jumped, he didn’t care. He gripped the blanket a little tighter in his hands. If someone was going to come in and kill him, or come drag him away and torture him, he deserved it. He just hoped that Jemma knew he tried. If this was the end for him, he hoped that she knew he tried. But with Oliver not in his reach and his cane not in his hand, he couldn’t do anything.

_Useless, Fitz. Bloody useless. Weak and useless and stupid._

There was another bang against a door, and, distantly, he could hear the tinny noise of a walkie-talkie. Maybe the Chronicoms were giving orders to kill him. He pressed his hands against his eyes, the heels of his palms pushing hard until he saw stars, until he saw Jemma and Ollie in his head and his heart just about burst.

 _I tried, I tried, I tried_ , he thought. _I tried to keep him safe, I’m sorry._

The door opened and his hand trembled against the blanket, holding tighter and tighter. “M’sorry, Ollie,” he whimpered.

“Fitz?”

He certainly wasn’t expecting May’s voice. His eyes snapped open, his brow furrowing in confusion. “M-May?” Sure enough, the woman was standing in the center of the room with Coulson beside her, both of them in those same blue jumpsuit as he’d seen before, both of them frowning as they looked from the empty cot to the Scot crying on the bed, baby blanket held against his cheek. “Wha’ are...”

“Long story,” Coulson answered. “The short version is that we were about to flood the base, then Jemma said you were here with someone named Oliver?” He gestured to the cot. “And I’m assuming Oliver is part of another long story that you and Jemma are gonna tell us all later.”

Fitz sniffled, nodding his head. “They took him,” he croaked, voice breaking on the words. “I woke up an’ ‘e was... ‘e was gone, I don’t—”

“He’s with Daisy.” May came closer and rested a hand on Fitz’s shoulder. She could feel the relief coursing through his veins, the heaviness on his conscience. Fear was overwhelming. It was no wonder he was shaking. “Daisy and Sousa found him. They’re on the Quinjet with Simmons and Deke.”

“We were the closest to you, according to Enoch.” Coulson held out a hand for Fitz to take, helping him sit up. Shakily, Fitz took the hand outstretched to him, letting the man — Chronicom? LMD? ChroniCoulson? Fitz’s head spun trying to think it through — help him up. “So we came to bust you out, bring you home.” He turned to May. “Wheelchair out in the hallway?”

With a nod, May turned to go and get it, but Fitz shook his head. “No,” he said. He gripped Coulson’s hand a little tighter. “Do-don’t need it. Jus’ help me up. Both o’you. S’not gonna be easy, or fast, but I can make it.”

Confusion radiated off of Coulson, the 1s and 0s making up his emotions reaching May in only a few seconds. Nonetheless, the woman moved closer to Fitz, offering up her hand for him to take. He tucked the baby blanket into his pocket, taking her hand after he pulled his legs over the edge of the bed. He gave them both a little nod, and they eased him up, slowly. His feet touched the floor and he nearly crumbled to the ground before the balance kicked in. Another nod, and he dragged one foot forwards.

The uncertainty coursing through his veins hit May, and Coulson’s own confusion was enough to make her dizzy, but together, they helped the engineer to the door, to the hall, towards the Quinjet. It wasn’t an easy trek to make, but for the first time in years, Fitz was on his feet and walking.

* * *

“ _Simmons, do you copy? We’ve found Oliver. Repeat, we’ve found Oliver. We’ll meet you back at the plane._ ”

Hearing Sousa’s voice over the walkie-talkie, Jemma felt like she could breathe again for the first time in the last hour. Instinctively, her hand reached out for Deke’s, just for support, and her grandson squeezed her hand back tightly.

“Thank you.” She pressed the button down on the walkie-talkie. “Thank you. We’ll meet you on the Quinjet once we get the others. How is he? Is he hurt?”

Daisy’s voice came on the walkie-talkie next. “He’s fine,” she informed the mother. “He’s squirming around like crazy, but he’s got all his fingers and toes and a really, _really_ strong grip on my hair.”

The Inhuman’s words managed to get a smile to crack on Jemma’s lips, though fear was still running rampant through her veins. Her son was safe in Daisy’s arms, and soon, he’d be back in her own, but until he was, she could feel nothing but the anxiety that had been stuck to her since the moment she and Fitz had parted ways. Until she could hold Oliver and until she could hold Fitz, she knew that fear wouldn’t leave. It would keep forcing its way through her veins, and even _then_ , it might not go away completely. It never would. She tried to force a breath into her lungs and chalk residual fear down to being a parent, to being a worried wife.

It wasn’t until Deke squeezed her hand again that she pulled herself out of her thoughts.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Deke tilted his head a little, his brow furrowing in confusion. “For crying?”

She hadn’t even realized she was until he mentioned it. She let go of his hand, letting shaking fingertips brush against her cheek. Sure enough, they came back damp, and she shook her head, ponytail waving side-to-side as she did. “No,” she told him. “Not for crying, for…”

Oh, she _knew_ the words that she _wanted_ to say, but finding the proper way to say them was a whole different battle. But the look in her grandson’s eyes was nothing if not patient, if not understanding, in some way or another.

“Is it about my mom?”

Jemma’s heart sunk a little, but knowing that Deke was understanding what she was going to say eased some of the sting. “You thought that it was your mother in the photograph, but it’s not, and I know that time is different but—”

“But now I have an uncle.” Deke nudged her shoulder and she shifted on her feet. His ability to simply roll with the punches never ceased to amaze her. “I have an _uncle_ that’s a baby, and… and, yeah, I thought it was my mom, but… meeting my mom as a baby would have been weird. And confusing, and…”

His sentence faded as he lifted his shoulders up into a shrug. “Time isn’t fixed, and, hey, maybe once this is all over, my mom will be a part of the FitzSimmons family, and down the line, I will be, too.”

Jemma swallowed back the lump in her throat, biting back any more tears that threatened to fall. It wasn’t fair to Deke, she thought, with his whole world turned upside down and his one tether to the rest of his family was still yet to exist.

“ _Simmons, Deke, do you copy?_ ”

The crackling voice over the walkie-talkie’s static derailed Jemma’s train of thought. Her brow furrowed, her fingers pressing the communication button again as she held the device closer to her.

“Coulson? Is that you?”

A beat of silence started to settle, before, “ _Yeah. May and I found Fitz. Meet back at the Quinjet. We might have ticked off some Chronicoms on our way to this rescue mission, so be ready to fly when we get there._ ”

They found Fitz. Her husband and their son were both safely with the team, and, soon enough, he’d be back beside her, with Oliver in their arms. She let out another breath, just about deflating, exhaling all of the worry as it rushed from her system. She could see her hand trembling against the walkie-talkie, though the feeling wasn’t there, like she’d been disconnected from the rest of her body. Static flooded her fingertips, spreading through her veins as the panic washed away, the nervous anxiety taking its place and washing over her in waves. She saw Deke move a little closer in the corner of her eye, knew he took her by the arm and was guiding her back to the Quinjet, but she couldn’t feel it.

 _Fitz, Fitz, Fitz, Fitz_.

It was a mantra in her head, like an echo of her own heartbeat as she hurried up the cargo ramp. The echo changed.

_Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie._

She tore herself away from Deke, dropping the walkie-talkie onto the closest seat and tripping over her feet as she ran. In the corner of her eye, she could see Sousa moving around, holding onto the edge of the Quinjet’s seats to balance himself as he moved to the cockpit, though he stopped to turn and look when he heard her footsteps, heard her boots against the metal floor of the ship. She ignored him. She hardly even looked at him, just walked faster and faster until she stopped, skidding to a halt just an inch before where Daisy was standing.

“Ollie.”

“Hey, easy, he’s okay.”

Daisy’s assurance was fine and good, but Jemma needed to know that for herself. In the Inhuman’s arms, Ollie was staring with wide-eyes, squirming and wiggling to get free. He turned his head a little to look at the new sounds. His eyes met his mum’s, and his tongue poked out a little between his lips. Jemma’s heart soared. She reached to take him, a hand slipping under his head to support him and another taking him from under his little legs. Almost immediately, he reached a hand up and tangled his fingers in her hair, tugging once on the loose strand that had fallen from her ponytail.

“Hi… hi, baby, it’s okay… Mummy’s here.”

She pressed her lips to the infant’s temple, letting her tears slip down into the little tufts of hair on his head, dark like her own. He cooed quietly, squished against her as she held tight to him. Despite her best attempts to keep it all together, she could hear her own sobs growing louder, stronger. Someone placed a hand against her shoulder, guiding her back a few steps until she was sitting down. Oliver squirmed in her arms, a tiny fist pushing against his mother’s chest as he wriggled. He smacked his lips together, his tongue sticking out again as he raised a fist to rub at his eyes.

“Where was… I…”

Jemma swallowed back her words and started again, finally looking up to Daisy, now sitting by her side in the flight seats. She leaned back a little in her own seat, shifting Oliver in her arms so that he was sitting up a bit more, curious eyes gazing at his surroundings. The biochemist looked back to her son, her fingertips drifting over his arm as he stretched himself out, cooing softly.

“He was in the lab,” Daisy answered. “I guess it should’ve been obvious. The first place we go looking to find him, and he’s in the lab.” She nudged her shoulder against Jemma’s gently. “He looks just like Fitz.”

Jemma’s smile crept up slowly onto her lips. “He does, doesn’t he?” she hummed. Her fingers brushed over Oliver’s little curls slowly. “He’s got the same eyes as him… and his curls. Though Fitz was afraid he’d have his nose, as well. I think he’s got most of Fitz’s features…”

Daisy tilted her head to the side, stretching out a hand and letting the boy curl his hand around her little finger. “He’s a handsome little guy,” she mused. “But, I would like a _real_ introduction to him. Not just learning his name during an argument. He’s already shaking my hand, so…” She raised her eyebrows as a smirk settled on her lips.

“Ha. Well, then…” Jemma took a breath, shaking her head just slightly. “Daisy, this is Oliver. Oliver Lincoln FitzSimmons.”

She was sure that her heart might burst, one hand raising to cover her mouth. “Lincoln,” she mumbled. “Oliver Lincoln.”

“There were a lot of contenders for a middle name,” Jemma said softly. “Antoine didn’t quite fit, nor did Phillip, or Davis. We considered Robert for a moment, and we humored the idea of naming him after Hunter, but… Lincoln felt like the right fit.”

Daisy could feel the pressure building behind her eyes, moving her hand from her mouth to wipe away the tears before they fell. “Well.” Her shoulders sagged a little. “It is wonderful to meet the little guy…” She shook her hand a little, Oliver’s fingers still curled around her own. “It’s nice to meet you, Oliver.”

Oliver wriggled around a little in Jemma’s arms, his tongue brushing over his lips as he squirmed. He hiccuped, a look of surprise settling on his little face, confused at his own sound, before he settled again, lips parting into a yawn. He wrinkled his nose and shut his eyes tight, nuzzling a little in the crook of Jemma’s elbow.

“Hi, little love.” Jemma swept a hand over his back gently. “I’ve missed you so much, Ollie…”

“He’s certainly been missin’ you, too.”

Daisy, Deke, Sousa, and Simmons all turned to look at the voice. Even Oliver blinked his eyes back open to see. The looks on their faces were pure mirrors, each agent more shocked and stunned than the last, though no one looked so overjoyed as Jemma did. At the edge of the cargo ramp, Fitz was _standing_ between May and Coulson, an arm around their shoulders, and his feet on the ground. He was _standing_. It was the first time she’d seen him stand since they’d gone off in separate Quinjets before the mission in Chicago. It was the first time she’d seen him _stand_ since before the building collapse, before he’d ended up in another coma, this one for far too long, before he’d woken up and couldn’t move his legs.

“Fitz…”

Jemma stood up so quickly that she felt the Quinjet spin around her. Daisy stood with her, her arms held out to take Oliver, a wordless gesture that Jemma obeyed without a second thought. The infant whined softly, miffed at being moved from the comfort of his mother’s arms, but he settled in Daisy’s arms without too much of a fuss. Already, Jemma was rushing ahead, rushing down the cargo ramp to her husband.

With a lurch, Fitz dragged one foot onto the ship, then the other. His steps were uneasy, and he was shaking with every move he made, his face pale. Clearly, it was taking all of his energy to even move, clearly draining him with every shuffled half-step forward. May could feel it, too, feel that exhaustion pushing through his veins, but there was determination powering through it, a spark of adrenaline forcing him forward.

Sousa stumbled a step over towards Daisy, his eyes locked on Fitz and Simmons as he moved. “I thought you said he was paralyzed,” he mumbled.

Jemma took the last few steps towards her husband at a run, crashing into him and wrapping her arms around him. Immediately, Fitz let his arms move from over May and Coulson’s shoulders, moving to cling to Jemma instead. He staggered a little without the extra support, and he leaned against her more than he wanted to admit, but it didn’t stop her from holding on. If anything, she only held him tighter, her face buried in his shoulder as she shook.

“I… thought he was,” Daisy mumbled, shaking her head.


End file.
